


Happy Days

by Mamajo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamajo/pseuds/Mamajo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His first day as a wedded man could have gone better. But his husband was Sherlock Holmes, so what did he expect, really?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Days

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short thing, that wouldn't let me sleep (it woke me up and started to percolate, before I even had my coffee). Schmoop of the finest order. Oh, and unbetad. If you find glaring mistakes, please let me know, so I can fix it.

Sherlock was sulking.  
Nothing new there, but this time it was entirely John's fault and he knew it. On top of the sulk Sherlock was nursing a massive hangover, that may have been Sherlock's own doing, but nevertheless he blamed John for it as well. It had been his suggestion to go the pub after all. John sighed and tried not to panic.  
'I'll go and check. If you need anything, I have my mobile on me.'  
Silence.  
John put on his jacket and closed the door quietly on his way out. Mrs. Hudson was lurking at the foot of the stairs, she must have heard the shouting. John send her a not quite there smile.  
'Good morning, Mrs. Hudson. Sorry we woke you.'  
'That's alright, dear. Can I do anything?'  
John shook his head.  
'He'll be awhile. Just let him sulk and get it out of his system. Do you need something from the shops?'  
Mrs. Hudson declined the offer and let him go.  
Out on the street, John put up his collar against the wind. It was cold, the sun just barely peaking out behind thick clouds, that promised rain later on. He sighed again and started to retrace their steps from the night before.

It had been a quiet ceremony. Just Sherlock and him and the two witnesses from the registrar's office. Sherlock had approached him about marriage a mere three weeks before, and John, after spending a day in a haze, had said yes. It hadn't really surprised John, that Sherlock hadn't wanted to wait. So after the formalities were over (and John decidedly _didn't_ fight tears at the signing of the papers), they had looked for the nearest pub, searching for a good meal and some wine to celebrate. The food had been very good, the wine had been plenty and even somewhat adequate for Sherlock's refined palate. And that was their downfall. More Sherlock's than his, but he hadn't exactly left the pub all that upright either. Thankfully the taxi ride had been short. After some snogging on the sofa, John had taken his husband's hand (his _husband_ 's) and had led him into the bedroom, closing the door on the world.

The morning after, unfortunately, hadn't been as pleasant. Upon waking John had untangled himself from Sherlock's attempt at playing limpet and had shuffled into the loo to relieve a full bladder and do something about that headache, that was lurking in the back of his head. And there, disaster struck. John had stared at his empty ringfinger for a second, before he even comprehended what was wrong with the picture. A second later, he had panicked. A frantic search of his clothes and the flat later, turned up nothing. John had stood beside the kitchen table, still naked, pinching his nose, trying to remember the night before, when Sherlock had stuck his head around the kitchen door and asked what was wrong. So much for keeping this quiet. After confessing to his mistake, Sherlock had stared at him for a moment, then turned around and walked into the loo. Closing the door loudly. What followed had been shouted accusations about not taking _this_ (the marriage) seriously, about how John secretly had wanted to leave (Sherlock had _known_ it) and how irresponsible John was in general. John, naturally, had exploded and started to list Sherlock's mistakes. Chronologically and alphabetically. Which led to the aforementioned sulking and John's leaving.

John shook his head at himself and turned the corner. He really hoped someone at the pub had found his ring and _not_ taken it home with him/herself. Thankfully, it was now late enough in the day that the pub was already open. John walked in and made a beeline for the loo. That was the only place that he could think of, where he could have taken off his ring. But his search was fruitless. The place had been cleaned, there was nothing in the corners or in the bin. Dejected, John walked out again. Hopefully, the woman, who was cleaning glasses behind the bar had seen something. John stepped up to her.  
'Good morning.'  
The woman looked up. John thought, he might remember her vaguely from the night before.  
'Good morning. What can I do for you?'  
John leaned against the bar.  
'You wouldn't happen to have found a ring in the men's yesterday, or this morning?'  
The woman shrugged.  
'No, sorry. My husband cleaned up. I can ask him, if you like?'  
'That would be brilliant. I'm looking for my wedding ring, it looks silver, it's a bit wider than usual.'  
She nodded and left via a door at the back of the bar. John rubbed a tired hand across his face. What a start into his marriage. He grinned self-deprecatingly. Perfect for them, actually.  
He had to wait a few minutes, before the woman came back, a smile on her face.  
'This wouldn't be it, then?'  
She held up his ring. John sagged against the bar in relief.  
'You are a life saver.'  
She put the ring into his outstretched palm. He closed his hand around it and brought the fist against his heart. He was never letting it out of his sight again.  
'Thank you very much. Divorce is averted.'  
The woman laughed and shooed him outside. John stood on the pavement for awhile, breathing in the fresh air, the ring still clutched to his chest. Finally, he started the walk back home, slipping his wedding ring onto his right ring finger. Now for the hard part.

Sherlock was still curled up on the sofa, when he stepped into the flat. John shed his jacket and shoes and closed the distance between them. He knelled beside the sofa, watching the tense back, the defensive curl of the shoulders.  
'I'm sorry.'  
Nothing.  
John stretched out his hand and laid it softly on Sherlock's head, stroking the curls. The ring snagged at one and trapped his hand. He gently untangled it.  
'You found it then.'  
John looked up from his contemplation of his husband's hair.  
'Took it off while washing my hands at the pub. I'm not used to the sight, so I forgot. I'm sorry.'  
'Hm.'  
He resumed the stroking and the muscles at Sherlock's neck loosened some.  
'Why didn't you tell me about your doubts?'  
The shoulders tensed again, Sherlock curled up even tighter than before.  
'I didn't …'  
John waited patiently.  
'I didn't want it to be a joke.'  
John lifted an eyebrow.  
'Sherlock?'  
His husband sighed and finally turned around. Eyes met.  
'I want this marriage to be true. That no one can take you away from me. I want the whole world to see, that you find me worthy of such a thing as marriage. That you consent to belonging to me.'  
Sherlock scooted closer to the edge of the sofa, to him, and closed his eyes.  
'That you really find me worthy of love.'  
John's heart ached. How so many people overlooked this incredible man for what he really was, baffled him constantly. He hooked his left behind Sherlock's neck and brought their foreheads together.  
'You are the best and brightest man I know. You being you is the most precious gift you could have given me. That you think, that you want to spend the rest of your life with me...'  
He breathed in the scent of their combined heat.  
'Sherlock, I love you. Faults and all. You saved me. You gave me purpose. I couldn't be happier.'  
Hands found his shoulders, pulling him in. Sherlock made room, so he could lay with him, till he was nestled against his chest, butt hanging precariously off the edge. John fumbled for the blanket hanging off the back of the sofa and covered them with it. Entwined, they spend the rest of the day there, breathing each other in.

As far as the first day of the rest of their lives went, it wasn't the worst way to spend it, John thought and tightened his arms around his husband, letting sleep claim him.


End file.
